


Skybound

by kinpika



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Drabble Collection, F/F, F/M, Gen, M/M, Multi, Multiple Pairings, Multiple Ratings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-05
Updated: 2016-01-26
Packaged: 2018-01-18 06:36:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 5,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1418580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kinpika/pseuds/kinpika
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of Haikyuu!! ficlets that vary in pairing, rating and length. Random updates.</p><p>Update:<br/>- Akaashi/Hinata</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. oikage: cold hands, warm heart

Kageyama has cold hands.

Oikawa knows this because Kageyama has always touched him since they day they met. From the first handshake at their first training, where nails dragged along the palm of Oikawa’s hand, to grasping Oikawa’s hands in his own just before the match with Shiratorizawa and nearly begging for him to teach him how to serve. And now, Kageyama rubs at the nape of Oikawa’s neck, soothing and gentle, the coolness drawing shivers.

What was that saying again? People with cold hands, Oikawa thinks, they have warm hearts, or something like it. Except sometimes he doesn’t know exactly how fitting this is for Kageyama, who passes through life with little hardship, less effort. It’s a struggle, sometimes, when they never stand on equal ground, but Kageyama is probably kinder than he is, more prone to fits of feeling for Oikawa, unafraid that Oikawa can swallow his trust whole and tear it apart.

Oikawa’s hands shake; he lowers his pen lest he make a mess of this essay once again. Kageyama pauses his touches along Oikawa’s shoulders. He reaches forward, draping himself over Oikawa’s back, to trace his fingers over the back of the still shaking hands.

“Your hands,” says Kageyama, pressing a kiss to the skin of his neck, “they’re warm.”


	2. kuroken: Four Seasons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kuroken through 4 seasons

_Summer_

 

There’s the faint sound of cicadas and the odd clink of ice from inside the house courtesy of his hosts - barely there noises drowned out by the wall of heat pressing down on his skin. The only penetrable noise in the little bubble of fire that is Kuroo, is Kenma’s game. Kuroo is convinced Kenma has turned up the sound of on purpose but that doesn’t really matter to him right now because

“Oh my god,” Kuroo groans. “Oh my god, please just let me die.”

He's flat on his back, spread-eagled on the porch, and only barely meets the minimum standards of decency. If he stands up without buttoning the cut-offs he's wearing, chances are very good that he'll end up flashing any innocent bystanders in the vicinity. Which happens to be quite a few as the neighbourhood kids are all running about on the cement and Kuroo is really unsure how they are still conscious.

It’s the millionth time Kuroo’s said it in the last ten minutes and it seems to finally break through Kenma’s insistent silence. "It's not that hot," he tells Kuroo, nudging him in the ribs with his toe.

Kuroo wants to call bullshit on Kenma’s behalf because only last night he was preaching the same thing, but he doesn’t. "I am roasting alive." Kuroo lifts a hand and waves it in a feeble attempt to generate a breeze. " _Roasting_ , Kenma."

He doesn't look like he's roasting and Kenma knows for a fact that Kuroo has played volleyball through summer heat every bit as relentless as the current heat wave. If he says anything, Kuroo will only insist that that is somehow different. "I don't know what you expect me to do about it."

Kuroo turns a look on him that is probably meant to be piteous. "Put me out of my misery, Kenma."

Kenma deliberates for a moment (which was completely unnecessary in hindsight) before emptying his glass of ice water on Kuroo, who comes up shrieking and does, in fact, nearly lose his shorts while he sputters and demands an explanation for Kenma's wanton cruelty. But even he cannot dispute the fact that he did ask for it.

 

_Autumn_

 

Kenma really like the autumn, though he doesn’t really talk about it much. Wouldn't, probably, even if Kuroo went ahead and asked him about it, or would say something gruff about of course I find the cooler weather a relief after the summer or naturally this weather is more suitable because of blah blah blah, but it would all be a bunch of bullshit. Kenma just likes the autumn. It's all there to see in the way his mouth softens when he looks at the changing colors of the leaves, and the way he pauses, sometimes, when he thinks himself unobserved, so he can turn his face up to the falling leaves and smile. It's in the way his mood changes and opens up more, to the extent that he ever opens up to, and the way he smiles when the wind picks up. It’s little things that change in himself each year as the colour returns to the leaves once more, and he just likes it because of that.

Kuroo’s not the fan of autumn that Kenma is, but he likes it for Kenma's sake, and he likes it for the way the nights turn cooler and make it practical to fit himself against Kenma and snuggle close beneath the covers. And really, those are pretty good reasons in themselves, aren't they?

 

_Winter_

 

Kenma has always had a streak of bad luck a mile wide that explodes over winter. Normally, he’s able to deal with it in a way of never leaving his house until he’s able to walk down the driveway without slipping over. Of course, this time, he’s stuck at Kuroo’s place, and stares plaintively outside the window, his own room so close yet so far.

Kuroo, from his spot at the foot of the bed, managed to throw a pillow at Kenma, laughing when it’s thrown at such a godawful angle back. “It’s fine. You’ll be able to go back tomorrow. And besides, wasn’t that the plan anyway?”

A huff leaves Kenma, who eventually settles for frowning at Kuroo. It was the plan, but Kenma prefers his bed to Kuroo’s. Kuroo’s pillows were too large, too puffy, too soft. He couldn’t sleep for fear that he’d sink in, or fall off the bed. Even with Kuroo’s arm normally cradling the back of his neck, Kenma was always awake.

In an attempt to placate the clearly displeased Kenma, Kuroo switched on the old game system he purposely dragged into his room (“If we turn it on in the lounge, someone is going to just get in the way,” he had explained when Kenma had that confused look on his face). Letting the curtain drop, Kenma crawls to sit a space away from Kuroo, taking the offered controller without a word.

Kuroo doesn’t mind just watching as always, but he slowly scoots closer to Kenma, trying to figure a pretense for why he was before settling on that he could because of reasons.

“It’s cold,” is all Kenma says and Kuroo happily helps him move to his lap, winding his arms around Kenma’s waist. Kenma doesn’t make a protest when Kuroo slides a hand underneath Kenma’s ( _his_ ) jacket, except for an elbow to his sternum.

Resting his chin on Kenma’s shoulder, Kuroo hums happily in time to the terrible battle music, fingers drumming along on the skin of Kenma’s waist.

“I really like winter,” Kuroo says happily, pressing a soft kiss to Kenma’s neck.

 

_Spring_

 

He's always glad when winter begins to let go and the weather begins to warm up again, but Kuroo’s favorite part of spring honestly is the cherry blossoms. Maybe that’s stereotypical, but what the hell. He likes them and he likes going to look at them, and best of all, he likes that Kenma humours him and goes along in spite of the crowds and the young families and the general inconvenience of going out to walk through the park one day. Kenma would probably grill him over it tomorrow but it doesn’t matter as Kuroo throws his head back and just spreads his arms. This is what he likes the most.

And he loves the fact that when he turns to look at Kenma, Kenma is looking back and wearing one of those soft, private expressions that are just for Kuroo.

"You've got petals in your hair," Kenma tells him, trying to sound gruff about it but failing spectacularly with that look in his eye. "Come here."

Kuroo laughs and bends his head so that Kenma can brush the petals away, and doesn't say anything about how long it seems to take before Kenma is satisfied by his work. It’s that closeness and that flush that draws Kuroo in, but Kenma pulls up his scarf and almost runs away, and Kuroo’s following as they weave between people. This is what he loves the most, Kuroo knows, when his fingers entwine with Kenma’s.

 


	3. nishimizu: hits him like the roof's caved in

Nishinoya doesn’t realise he’s pretty much completely infatuated with Shimizu until a preliminary match in his third year. He kind of maybe overestimated that last reach for the ball (but he kept it in!) and kind of went tumbling a little bit. As he’s facing the ceiling - which he took him a few seconds to realise it was actually the ceiling - Taketora calls out something from across the court but his gaze kind of wanders up to the stands.

In that instance there is a goddamn halo of light around Shimizu (who is actually really concerned for Nishinoya because the boy still hasn’t gotten off the floor yet) and Nishinoya realises he has it really bad for her.

And because of that realisation, Nishinoya gets _sweaty_ and _nervous_ and what the hell this hasn’t happened before?! Ukai calls a timeout since Nishinoya was on the ground longer than he thought he was and oh god he must look so uncool now, great going Yuu.

To be honest, they kind of just fall over the line anyway in their game with Nekoma, but Nishinoya’s sudden realisation that the girl he _liked_ was _watching him_ short circuited some key parts of his brain. He gets a talking to from Takeda (which was both weirdly enlightening and mildly embarrassing) about how everyone has off days. But that’s the only thing close to sympathy he gets thankfully as Ryuu somehow manages to get Taketora’s attention and soon both teams are crammed into some poor old man’s restaurant, complaining back and forth about dirty cheating Nekoma and sad stupid Karasuno.

All the former third years are there too and there’s some weird kind of backhanded fight going on between Daichi and the former Nekoma captain that’s just way too hilarious to ignore.

Nishinoya managed to forget ever tripping and falling until Shimizu settles in beside him. He’s never tensed to fast and has to strain his ears to catch her words. It’s not a good combination as the look on his face makes the worry on hers deepen that little bit.

“You had a pretty bad fall. Maybe you should go home for now?”

So his eyes kind of focus in on that little beauty spot on her chin but who can blame him, right? It’s pretty damn mesmerising - especially when wise guy sitting behind Shimizu kind of nudges her and it’s just about in his face _oh my god_

Nishinoya has probably less than a centimetre between their noses and he doesn’t even have to look in a mirror to know his cheeks have gone the colour of a Nekoma jacket. Maybe his entire face too. Probably his body. Was it always this hot in here?

Somehow they manage to untangle themselves and Nishinoya has to stop himself from reaching across the table and pressing Ryuu’s face into his goddamn udon for staring so much. Even Suga is giving him some weird looks and Nishinoya has to wonder if everyone on the table saw what just happened - they did, and he gets catcalls from all of Nekoma’s third years (former ones included). Even Ukai has something to say about it. Needless to say it doesn’t help his complexion.

He doesn’t really remember much after that except Shimizu smiling before excusing herself to sit at the end with Yachi and the Nekoma manager. Maybe he had a look akin to forlorn on his face but Nishinoya snapped himself out of it with the practice of a man who’d been turned down a hundred times (he hadn’t honestly, maybe like _twice_ , three times counting that girl in middle school, but no one had to know that).

When he’s walking home with Ryuu and Taketora because he values his life and won’t allow Ryuu to drive him anywhere after the Saeko experience, his hand brushes something in his pocket. He jumps to the worst conclusion and nearly rips it out of his pocket, realising halfway through throwing it away its actually a slip of paper and oh he vaguely recognises that handwriting …

Nishinoya pretty much went into catatonic shock when he held Shimizu’s email address with both hands. At least Ryuu and Taketora were there to celebrate for him (and carry him home because he nearly cried the lucky bastard).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ships into the sunset


	4. (gen) oikawa & futakuchi: ruru-chan and jiji

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> au in which futa and oikawa are cousins and they call each other names and live to make the other cry.

If there was one thing Futakuchi wasn't thankful for, it was his cousin. There was something wrong with the guy, and his creepy smile. Futakuchi remembered with a shudder how several years ago how the older boy pinched his cheeks and with a leer that would make even a grown man cry, and called Futakuchi "Jiji".

Needless to say, they've never really been friendly. Apparently, according to their mothers' endless chatter, they used to be close until middle school. Futakuchi fondly remembers Oikawa nearly drowning him in a swimming pool just prior to that incident. Now, he wouldn't say that might've been the reason for suddenly despising his cousin, but nearly dying kind of gives him an excuse.

Not saying that all the blame was on Oikawa, of course. He probably deserved that look from Oiakwa that one time when Oikawa had just started high school and Futakuchi called him "Ruru-chan" in front of his new team.

And that dinner where Oikawa's girlfriend was over and there was the casual slip in conversation that Oikawa wet the bed until he was 10. No wait, make it 14 just to see that vein pop in Oikawa's head.

There was something really funny though in watching the _almighty_ Oikawa Tooru get wound up at family functions though. Oikawa was so used to being pampered as the baby of his family, Futakuchi naturally felt a need to upset that. That was all. Futakuchi was sure someone, somewhere, would say he had a deep seeded psychological problem with messing with Oikawa but that's what it was.

Especially when Oikawa would bite back and when they were 13 and 15 respectively, and their mothers made them sit at either corner of the room while they were covered in bandages and bruises but they just grinned.

It was fun. Sometimes. Maybe it was because if you pressed enough buttons you'd finally see Oikawa crack and Futakuchi only half knew the story behind his cousin's meltdown (he'd heard from that guy called 'Iwa-chan' who'd kind of side-eyed him until saying they acted the same enough so they had to be cousins). Sure he'd heard his father talk about it with his mother while he pretended to clean the dishes.

Futakuchi is pretty sure everyone knew about Oikawa's meltdown actually but he walked into that family lunch like nothing happened and actually talked about Futakuchi's game for once, he ignored it. May have received a rather inconspicuous mail from Oikawa later that talked about how much he hated volleyball (which he deleted because he didn't have time for his cousin's drama at that time).

May have. But when Futakuchi sees Oikawa at one more family function before the Inter-high, he doesn't care if his cousin acted like a pissy 5 year old, because

"Hey, Ruru-chan, I see you got fat."

"Ah, Jiji... I see you still look like a 15 year old girl but not hot."

They always end up back at square one eventually.


	5. kuroken: love drunk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i was doing the dishes and thought "what if kuroo was a lightweight"  
> for diga.

It’s heavy. Kuroo’s hand on his chest as he’s pushed back. The smell of liquor on their breaths. A blank wall slowly taking over his mind, stopping any simple thoughts short of _there, please just there_.

Kenma arches under Kuroo’s touch, like he had done a dozen, maybe a hundred, times before. Simple, easy movements, as he bends slightly to shimmy his pants off, and as Kuroo lavishes his way down his chest. Fingers press along skin they know so well, following the ridges and planes of Kenma’s chest. Kenma squeezes his eyes shut, when Kuroo laughs against his hip.

His mind is so sluggish, so hazy, Kenma doesn’t register the hands that push against his thighs, spreading him further, wider. Doesn’t register the probing tongue against the front of his briefs, splayed fingers teasing the soft skin just along the edges of the material.

Kuroo’s name doesn’t even manage to leave his throat before Kuroo’s moving, pulling his briefs down far enough to free the tip of Kenma’s cock. And then he looked up.

Kenma held Kuroo’s gaze, watched as Kuroo licked his bruised lips slowly. With a grin, Kuroo held the eye contact, before - so gently - kissing the tip of Kenma’s swollen cock. Releasing a shaky breath he didn’t know he was holding, Kenma twirled the sheets underneath his fingers. There was only so much he could take right now, and the way Kuroo was going so _slowly_ with it all felt like he was going to burst, and yet lie back in the pillows sobbing.

All he wanted was for Kuroo to either take him or leave him to his own devices. For a guy who had drunk himself under the table, he was doing really quite well at handling himself now, of all times. Apart from the initial touch of lips, Kuroo continued his assault on the surrounding area of skin, nails leaving their mark.

It has Kenma positively shaking under his touch, and his tongue is so heavy in his mouth he can’t even speak, just let out all sorts of embarrassing noises when Kuroo finally - _finally_ \- took him in his mouth.

Honestly, if he cared enough (which he didn’t), he would’ve said something about this being the absolute sloppiest blowjob he’s had in a long time, but Kuroo was giving it everything and his tongue plugged the head of Kenma’s dick and Kenma just wanted to come. That’s all.

And he does, almost screaming into his hand as the heat burns him so much. Kuroo’s name becomes a chant as Kuroo greedily takes everything, pinning Kenma’s hips down until he’s satisfied. Trying to curl up, Kenma whimpers when he’s pressed back, fingers still touching the sensitive flesh.

“Kuroo, your’s too,” is all Kenma groans out, hands lifting off of Kuroo’s, to Kuroo’s zipper.

In an attempt to help the situation, Kuroo pushes himself up. Swaying slightly, he made a show of undoing the button on his pants, teasingly running a hand along the waistband of his underwear. Fingers dip under the elastic, and with his free hand, he pulls the zipper down fully.

Pulling himself free, Kuroo begins to languidly stroke himself, head falling back as he works himself harder. “Kenma,” is all he gets out, moaning his name like it’s the only word he knows. “ _Kenma_.”

Without even thinking about it, Kenma’s hands wrap around his own cock, pumping himself in time with Kuroo. The rush of blood to Kuroo’s head has him stumble forward, and he’s pretty sure he elbowed Kenma in the gut in the process, but he’ll worry about that later (maybe, probably).

Shifting slightly, and pressing their hips down, Kuroo pushes his cock against Kenma’s. Wrapping his hand around the both of them, the noise Kenma makes has him jolt a little too hard and fast and Kuroo moans so loud, a part of him (far, far away in the part of his mind that wasn’t a complete haze) thought that they were likely going to have the neighbours find out.

One hand winds its way into the hair at the nape of Kuroo’s neck, pulling him down for not so much a kiss as much as just something to keep his mouth preoccupied while his other hand, held by one of Kuroo’s, slides over their cocks.

His whole body is quaking, and his head is still spinning from the previous orgasm, but he’s so hyper aware and every nerve ending in his body is on fire. Kuroo has buried his face somewhere between Kenma’s neck and shoulder and bites on the skin there as he groans, bucking into their hands something fierce.

Tension curls in Kenma’s stomach once more, and whatever rhythm he had with Kuroo he lost somewhere between the first shot and the hands that were teasing his nipples. He’s so close and Kenma buries his toes into the sheets, so ready but

Kuroo’s movements slow, until stopping almost entirely. Whatever the attempt was at holding himself up, it was gone, as the sudden weight across his chest had Kenma inhale sharply. And then he heard the softest of snores by his ear.

The alcohol had finally caught up with him.


	6. akahina: bright lights

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> one sided akaashi for everyone  
> well for now

Not to say he hadn’t seen Hinata shine of course, the training camp the previous year leaving a large enough impression on Akaashi that he couldn't help but wonder about the small middle blocker, but his focus had solely been on Bokuto for so long, it was hard to look away. Hard to distinguish the light of someone else from a person who had been the centre of his world for so long, but when Bokuto left with a slap on Akaashi’s back and making him promise to look after their team, Akaashi blinked. When had the world been so dull?

And now, at the training camp before the Spring tournament once more, Akaashi looked up as that little body flew, and smiled because it was a simple _oh there you are_. Maybe it was some deep internal issue he’d need a therapist to sort out, about how he needed to follow someone probably for the rest of his life. But he couldn’t help being taken on by those who were honestly the brightest people he’d ever seen.

Akaashi was left with the same problem as before, however: did he do anything about it? With Bokuto it’d been easy enough to file everything away for later, channel any sexual frustration out onto the court and look away whenever there was the slightest slip of skin. Back then, he’d been able to stop himself from tumbling over his words when he and Bokuto were alone, to ignore Bokuto’s pressing and talk about something else. It had been almost easy to direct Bokuto away from himself, but Hinata was another mystery.

Akaashi hadn’t spent the same time with Hinata as he had with Bokuto. They were similar enough that he could talk at length about Hinata’s spike as enough of a distraction, but Hinata turns this look on him that has his heart stop, start (and think, shit I’ve been found out). Thanking whoever was watching over him that the training camp was only a week long, Akaashi was able to look away. Look away and internalise everything for later.

Except when the little sun came tumbling over to him, grin already on his face, cawing one thing or another about how good that game was could he please set for him a few times? Akaashi can almost feel those in the vicinity stare, both out of simple curiosity or as far as Karasuno went, in honest concern, but they set up a few 3-on-3 games despite the initial hesitance.

His tosses are not as suited to Hinata as the setter from Karasuno (Kageyama, he remembered after) were, but in the last year Hinata had become flexible, loud whoops leaving him with each successful spike. Akaashi wondered what it’d be like to be on the same team and hear that cheer all the time, see that grin directed at him, rolled the ball in his hand once more and served, throwing whatever confusion he had into that serve.

Maybe next year he’d see someone as bright as Hinata, and watch after them, but Akaashi found himself so fixated on how he leapt, he smiled down at his feet when no one was looking. Maybe he did need someone to check his head.

 

 


	7. bokukono: if only

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> one sided konoha... as far he's aware

Some days, Konoha had wished things to be slightly different. It wasn’t so much a resentment he had, after all things went the way they were and he couldn’t change how things had gone. Konoha didn’t have that sort of power but some days he would stare across that court and wished he did.

It was wrong. Konoha knew deep down it was probably definitely wrong to want in such a way, but even just a comment here or there would appease him (until he was home, alone, with little more than memories and his hand). Not that he blamed the attention moving off himself at all. Really. He tried not to when Akaashi would turn his way, that shift in expression telling Konoha he was onto him, he knew exactly what Konoha was thinking.

There was an anger in him whenever that happened. It only really led to him that one time, holding his serve to long and wishing maybe he had been able to set well enough to be pulled aside by the coach. Maybe then he would’ve been of some importance to Bokuto.

When had it started? When had he finally seen that smile turn from him to a kid below him? Bokuto had been the reason Konoha had continued playing, middle school results be damned. Bokuto was nothing if not persistent, chasing him around campus until he’d agreed to at least sit through training and watch (“Nothing more! I’m not wearing the right shoes.” “Alright, alright!” Bokuto had laughed and pushed him the rest of the way). Konoha had watched from the bench that day, tapping his foot impatiently because he missed his train, his mother was going to get worried and he had homework. Important things that a first year should be focusing on.

But then Bokuto had jumped, shoulder moving at an impossible angle and Konoha signed up the next day on a whim. At the training Bokuto had wrapped an arm around his shoulder, teased him for forgetting his shoes and made him join in anyway. Admittedly, he’d fallen hard that day, not really wanting to move from a spot beside Bokuto. The world was a helluva lot brighter when he was around.

And then Akaashi joined the next year. Bokuto eventually stopped swinging past his classroom at lunch to make him come to quick trainings. Konoha saw them once outside his own homeroom, Akaashi throwing the ball up for Bokuto to spike between imaginary blockers. Konoha didn’t eat much that day, and didn’t sit by the window for the rest of the year.

Maybe he was acting like a real brat, but what could he do? Short of ignoring the - unfortunately - taller kid, there wasn’t much. He wasn’t going to quit. Not after the way they played in second year (so close yet so far to glory). Looking down, Konoha sighed again, from somewhere deep in his belly, and tried to get all those feelings out. That’s what his mother always told him to do when he was feeling sad. Get rid of bad thoughts by breathing them out. And yet--

“Oi, Konoha!”

His eyes snapped up from the floor, and there was a goddamned halo of light around Bokuto’s head and well, for an instance, he could imagine that smile was solely for him.


	8. ashihina: first time

Akaashi’s hands are gentle, smooth along Hinata’s cheeks as he moves. He feels full, sore, stretched too wide, and yet good, so good. Hypersensitive from coming earlier, Hinata keens when Akaashi slips forward.

“Sorry, sorry.” And he stills, hands running over sweaty skin, tender, caring, trying to find where he’s sore.

Panting, Hinata leans back, eyes dropping to where they were joined, his cock leaking against his belly, the array of bites along his thighs. “It’s… fine…” And it was, so much so. Akaashi had patience, despite the quivering, and watched as Hinata drew his thighs higher up Akaashi’s waist, angle deepening. 

A deep noise leaves Akaashi, tension drawing over his face, and a shaky breath leaves him. “I’m going to move again.”

Nodding, Hinata wraps his arms around Akaashi’s neck tighter, fingers weaving into his hair as Akaashi snaps his hips forward. All at once, he seizes, long groans leaving Akaashi as he tightens around him. Trying to focus on breathing, Hinata whimpers and moans and grunts with each slap of skin against skin, each time Akaashi separates them for just a moment.

Close, he was so close. Dropping his chin, Hinata sees the head of his cock spilling over where it was between their bellies, and looks back up. 

“Kiss me.”

Akaashi does, taking Hinata’s lower lip between his teeth, skin swelling under his bite. It’s piercing, and Hinata’s eyes prickle, but Akaashi is quick, tongue laving over the skin before finally, finally he kisses him. Swallowing Hinata’s moans, he’s precise, perfect, even when he’s slipped his hands under Hinata, hands gripping his ass and pulling him closer. 

Good, too good, too tight, too hot. Hinata doesn’t remember coming, blanking out too fast, but he’s arching into the bed when Akaashi joins him. Akaashi’s face screws up when he comes, flushed and sweaty and Hinata laughs, breathless, peppering his face in kisses when he comes down.

Akaashi is not so fast on removing himself, barely holding himself up on his elbows as he shakes ever so slightly. 

“Are you alright?” Hinata finds himself asking, when Akaashi rests his forehead on his shoulder.

“I should be asking you that.”

Finally, he removes himself, Hinata’s breath catching in his throat at the loss of contact. Vaguely, he watches Akaashi snap the condom off, tying it and throwing it over into the nearby bin. 

“I’m… great.” And Hinata was, despite the pain in his thighs, the emptiness in his lower body and the stickiness over his chest. Minor things, when Akaashi practically glowed from head to toe, lazy kisses as he goes to stand.

“I’ll clean you up.”

Hinata waves as Akaashi disappears into the little bathroom, hears the tap running, and can’t help his eyelids droop. Tired. Like the energy had been sucked out of him. It was strange, and he just barely managed to watch Akaashi run a warm towel over them, before closing his eyes entirely.

Smiling, Akaashi washed, dried, and clothed Hinata in an old pair of pants, tugging him up the bed and under the covers. Hinata made little noise, rolling onto his side in an instant. Akaashi wobbled as he dressed himself in boxers, before slipping in beside Hinata.

“Hinata-san.”

“Hmm?”

Pressing his nose into the crook of Hinata’s neck, Akaashi couldn’t help but smile. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i love these two... pls...


End file.
